


Prometheus

by LelithSugar



Series: Double Jeopardy [3]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: ...is apparently how we are tagging that, 69 (Sex Position), Comedy, Established Harry Hart | Galahad/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Humor, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Oral Sex, Paradox, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Rimming, Selfcest, Shameless Smut, Smut, Temporal Paradox, Threesome - M/M/M, Time Travel, Voyeurism, silly attempt at sci-fi, taking liberties with physics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-28 10:25:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15705342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LelithSugar/pseuds/LelithSugar
Summary: As far as Harry is concerned, two’s company and three’s a crowd. He will concede, however, that three affords him an extra pair of hands.





	Prometheus

**Author's Note:**

> The third, perhaps not final, installment of my accidental series in which our heroes get their hands on some time travel technology and use it exactly how you might expect. If You haven't read the others yet, they work best in order and there will be a few concepts harked back to in this but I doubt it matters too much!
> 
> With thanks to Kageygirl for the help with this one, especially the titling which will become even more relevant if the fourth part ever sees the light of day; to Addie for getting me going on this series on the whole and the usual cheerleaders for keeping me motivated.

 

Prometheus

 

When Harry Hart was a young man, going to bed early was a purely euphemistic activity which rarely involved any more sleep than would’ve otherwise been had, and at times markedly less. With age, however, had come an appreciation of being early to bed and early … alright, a decent time… to rise in the more traditional context involving some light reading, decaffeinated tea - chamomile tastes like pond water, he doesn't care what anyone says - and a couple of extra hours deep, restful kip to help his body recuperate from the nonsense he insists on putting it through on a near daily basis despite being markedly the wrong side of fifty.

And then he'd fallen head over heels over arse over tit over teakettle for a twenty-five year old gymnast and early nights have once again become something he needs a decent lie in to get over, and Harry couldn't be happier about it.

As such, the fact they've eaten, given up on a film and headed upstairs by the time the grandfather clock in the hallway laboriously informs them that it's ten o’clock bodes very well indeed.  It might be due in part to the extremely hands-on experience with time travel they've both acquired in recent months having rendered the entire Terminator franchise unwatchable: Harry has yet to dabble in hopping about through the dimensions of time and space for all Merlin’s badgering, but knows enough from Eggsy’s couple of … _recreational_ trips back in time to agree with his summation of the movie’s version as “utter bollocks” and follow him to the bedroom. Amazon Prime’s loss will be Harry’s gain, not for the first time.

Merlin, and the entire technological department, are still extremely cagey about sharing any of the details of their temporal experimentation and in total fairness Harry, presented with ample opportunity, has spent all of about four seconds quizzing time-travelling-Eggsy about the minutiae behind his presence. He’s just not going to pretend it even makes it into the top ten priorities when you find yourself with a second copy of your lover to play with. Besides, it may well be that the reason nobody has answered so many questions is because time travel is completely mind boggling and they don’t fucking know either.  And Merlin has the cheek to wonder why Harry won’t make the damn jump.

Eggsy, for all he seems happy to pop back and forth like he’s nipping down Spar for a pint of semi skimmed as long as there’s a blowjob in it for him, also still has his questions, so their comparison of their understanding to James Cameron's version continues in the bedroom.

“So like… say I went back to three o'clock yesterday…”

“You'd be upside down in a lift shaft halfway up the Eiffel Tower?"

“Never mind that. But like, if I picked a time and went, came back and then went to that exact time, from ten minutes later... there'd be two of me there wouldn't there? Or three? Yesterday me plus the two future ones?” Harry nods at him whilst he unbuttons his shirt and a bit of Eggsy’s for him, not sure where his line of intrigue is off to but, given the way their experiments so far have turned out, quietly confident that nudity continues to be a safe interim goal. “So potentially you could have an indefinite number of time travel versions in one spot, couldn’t you! Like that episode of Family Guy." He shakes his head, smiling. "Imagine how fun life would be with like, bare Eggsies scattered all over the shop.”

“One of you bare would do nicely at this moment.” Harry seems to be undressing both of them despite Eggsy’s enthusiasm. He’s doing well though, having made short work of fastenings and moving onto peeling out of sleeves, even if he does get distracted by the warmth of proximity and try to do some of it with his arms around Eggsy’s nipped little waist. He’s dexterous. He’ll manage.

“Oh you know what I mean, don't be old about it. Bare like ‘undreds.”

“That's definitely gratuitous. I only have so many hands. And orifices.”

“Urgh! Don’t say _orifices_!” Eggsy laughs, though, and slinks up to press against Harry’s body, kissing at the front of his throat as it’s where his lips naturally fall unless he tiptoes and as such is a direct shortcut to turning Harry on like nothing else on earth. “Anyway, you grubby sod, they wouldn't all be for sex. You could have a few for housework, and a couple to send to work, and -”

“Far be it from me to interrupt your weird little subservience fantasy…” Harry strips Eggsy’s trousers down, “...but I'm not sure we could afford to feed that many of you.”

“Oi! Fucking cheek.” Eggsy gives Harry’s arse a harsh but enjoyable squeeze and grins at him. “Go on then, What would be the optimal number?”

“...a dozen,” Harry concludes gamely, after a moment’s thought, and then snorts. “A dozen eggs. Two… three for the bedroom. Three for housework. Three for work... missions, admin, one just for Merlin-soothing." Whether that would be an active role or consist mostly of distracting him from checking on the others, Harry does not have time to consider. "Two for entertainment purposes, one to act as a PA for the others. Perhaps Make it a baker’s dozen so there's one in reserve just in case.”

“Bare _and_ a spare!” Eggsy chuckles suddenly, seemingly to himself, and then tucks his thumbs into the waistband of Harry’s boxers, pressing close again with his chin dipped to look up at Harry in that way that has never not turned anyone’s knees to jelly, and he obviously knows it.  “I would well fight myself for the turn at being Bedroom Eggs. Wrestle for it, like? I'd win, too. I can fight proper dirty.”

It doesn't matter that that makes no sense whatsoever: Harry's ego very much enjoys the idea of any iteration of Eggsy wanting to go to bed with him, let alone two arguing over the privilege, and his erection responds favourably to having the ego stroked. Besides, he knows exactly what two of Eggsy grappling around looks like and he is a man of very unsophisticated tastes when it boils down to it.

Just like that they're back on track, and their first kiss of the evening in earnest is heated but brief: Harry draws back with the phantom sting of Eggsy’s teeth scraping over his bottom lip.

“I don't doubt it, but I can't help but feel we'd probably end up sending back a few more of me to keep them all in hand.”

The idea of being _kept in hand_ is one Eggsy likes in most contexts where Harry’s involved, and it’s clear from the way he presses harder against Harry’s front that something has sparked his fancy.

“Mmm. I could well go for having a couple of you to mess about with.”

Harry kisses the treasured spot behind Eggsy's ear and lets the idea bloom for a moment.

“You know, of course... that might be entirely possible?” It would be an out and out lie to say it is the first time he’s thought about it, but Eggsy doesn’t ask. It is, however, the first time it’s been a serious consideration rather than the abstract notion that Harry could often do with an extra pair of hands and a mirrored ceiling to make the most of this boy: they’ll always have Vegas. Well, they haven’t yet, but he’s been reliably informed by Future-Eggsy that their couple of days R&R there post-mission next month is much enjoyed by everyone except, perhaps, the housekeeping staff, but Harry always tips well. “I have still got to make my test jump,” he murmurs close to Eggsy’s ear, in case that idea’s what’s making him push forward and nibble at Harry’s collarbones like that.

“Won't Merlin go extra screwy if he thinks you're doing that with it?”

“Why should he? He’s let you do it twice!” Granted, it appears Merlin didn’t realise quite what Eggsy was up to the first time, but more fool him: he’s a young man. Besides, he wasn’t above using it to his own ends come December.  Harry comes to something of an epiphany, even though he’s not sure he’s actually considering it so much a playing along because it’s obviously getting Eggsy in the mood. “He's the one who wants me to mess about with it. In fact I suspect he may be a hair off suggesting it, if I keep dragging my heels. Does it not follow that taking care of my boy would be a reasonable incentive?”

Eggsy shudders into Harry’s embrace at his words and then goes very still. Then his face lights up as he presses a button on his watch. “Wait, wait… there. It is twenty two hundred oh six,” he says, pointedly.

“Twenty two hundred oh six,” repeats Harry, clearly, with a nod.

“Bloody hell, I'm actually on time,” says a second Harry, facing the wrong way in their bedroom doorway.

Eggsy gives an undignified shriek of joy and turns in a full circle before deciding to grab Harry’s hand and pull him along so that he can hug him and the new version at the same time, which is extremely considerate of him. Then, he has done this before. More than once.

Harry, for his part, is far more surprised by this turn of events than he feels he has any right to be. Something completely alien grips at his mind: a total, visceral wrongness, like an out of body experience as he pulls away to look at them, at his future self taking hold of his lover like he has every right and kissing him, with a hand tipping his jaw up just the way Harry does, because he _is_ Harry, and it makes his head swim.

Secondarily, he finds that the sight of him and Eggsy together goes straight to his cock.

Other than his fight or flight reflex going bonkers - something snarling up from Harry's chest that the imposter is on his territory, touching what is _his_ and must be challenged, must be defeated - it's really rather lovely.  There's something so soft, so intimate about them together - Eggsy is in a pair of teal boxer-briefs with a repeating pattern of bones, for some reason, and nothing else, and the other Harry is in gym clothes - that it makes Harry’s heart melt, makes his stomach tighten up, somehow. He feels absurd. He's been called vain but never imagined for a second that his vanity, which is usually more critical than appraising, would stretch to being aroused by watching himself kiss a beautiful young man, yet here he is.

Naturally, he covers for it by being pedantic.

“Didn't bother dressing up for the occasion, then?” are the first words Harry says to the copy of himself that has travelled back from some unspecified point in his future with a very clear purpose, and that Harry simply raises two long fingers at him over Eggsy’s shoulder.

Fair enough.

Harry drinks in the sight of himself and Eggsy together from this new vantage point. He's seen pictures of them together, of course: a couple of posed ones taken by friends or quietly shocked but obliging fellow holidaymakers; all the silly ones Eggsy takes on his phone which are far more flattering than they have any right to be, mostly by sheer dint of having Eggsy in them.  But this… this is different. This is like watching a film about yourself and being intrigued by the actor chosen to play you, so little does Harry see of his own neurosis in his immediate take on the couple in front of him. There’s something immediately arousing about two men so obviously enjoying each other’s company anyway and Eggsy looks flawless as ever, pale gold and sculpted like marble in a way that only someone his age can be, especially when Harry just watched him put a third of a tub of butter in his mashed potatoes.

This other Harry, in counterpoint, looks perhaps distinguished, and he’ll concede himself that he doesn’t look nearly as leathery from a couple of feet away as he does in the mirror. That's not to say the age gap isn't distinctly, immediately visible, but Harry’s appearance is complimented, flattered, by the attention of the beautiful young man he's so ably seducing. Eggsy looks good on him.

Harry rarely gets to look at Eggsy undressed for any length of time from this distance… _gets to, indeed_ , like it's a hardship that Eggsy’s naked body is usually pressed too close to some part of his anatomy for his very slight long-sightedness to allow him to appreciate. But he looks like an underwear model, a calendar boy; like pure unrealistic fantasy in Harry’s arms, all tight abs and round arse and smooth, bright youth.

It's obscene.

The other man’s - although he's not sure if the concept is a hindrance or a help, the other Harry's - hands are big and look all business on the neat, thick little curves of Eggsy’s muscle, touching him all the ways Harry wants to see him touched, like rather wonderful bespoke pornography, and the class disparity, nonsense as it may be, is somehow evident even with Harry in his gym clothes and Eggsy in nothing but his pants. Perhaps it's exactly because Eggsy is nearly naked and Harry's clothes, casual though they may be, are heavy and expensive; something about the very bearing of his body reeks of a boarding school education and by necessity he still wears his watch and his glasses, little hallmarks of age and status that stand out dramatically against all of Eggsy’s bare, freckled skin: his reciprocal offering.

It looks dirty, certainly, but not at all exploitative with Eggsy so hungrily, confidently pawing at him. Harry's hand shoving posessively but unceremoniously down the back of Eggsy’s snug turquoise pants may make it look like Harry owns him, but to give him is due Eggsy looks like he couldn't be more pleased about the arrangement.

_“Rich Older Dude Sucks Gorgeous Muscle Twink!!!”_ exclaims a helpful, woefully unsubtle Pornhub title caption in Harry's mind, unbidden, already putting together a montage of how they're going to look. “ _Sugardaddy shows his boy a good time!”_

He'd watch it, that's the thing.

So would Eggsy.

Harry does not, however, intend to simply watch. His sole purpose for the endeavor is to provide a new experience for Eggsy, to indulge and pamper him, but he can't help his own curiosity. This other man is he teammate, his ally, his co conspirator… is him, with all his memories and his quirks and his turn-ons, and the sooner he gets to grips with the whole mess the better he can make this for Eggsy..

He interrupts an increasingly heated clinch to look himself in the face fully for the first time: a singularly odd experience that he doesn't totally enjoy, but he supposes he looks a bit less like the inside of his maiden aunt’s handbag than he feels, even though this version must be older, if only by a few weeks. So there's some comfort to be had. Harry reaches a hand up to touch the lines at the corner of this impostor's eyes. Every fibre of hiss being screams at him that this cannot be, that this man who is so clearly him does not exist, is not what he is, and yet there he is under his fingertips, a mere foot away. The wrong Harry mirrors him, like a reflection or a swan in a mating dance, and Harry suspects that may just be to get on his nerves but he's too intrigued to care.

“Go on,” Eggsy enthuses, sitting on the edge of the bed, bright eyed. “-‘ave a little snog.”

Harry feel the grimace as it twists at his face. “I'm not really-”

“I did all sorts for you!”  

He wants to argue that Eggsy got the far better end of that deal and that Harry isn't his own type, but turnabout is fair play, he supposes, and he must concede that Eggsy did in fact put on quite the show for him. As much as Harry sees being the one to kiss Harry as having drawn the shorter straw in their relationship, Eggsy’s expression says he feels it should be some sort of treat for him and he just doesn’t have it in his heart to protest.

Matters of life and death and state have depended upon Harry being able to convincingly kiss people he's not in any way attracted to and living up to the excited look on Eggsy’s face, that tiny lick of his lips as his gaze ticks over both versions of Harry, is immediately more important than any of them. Besides, it's less that Harry finds himself physically repulsive than that he finds the whole idea a bit offputting, like kissing a lifelong friend you know far too much about to ever cross such a line. He'd rather kiss Merlin.

No, he wouldn't.

Harry closes his eyes and puckers up.

The kiss isn't awful. It's a little dry lipped, a little performative, and at on point he almost dislocates his knuckle because both versions of him go for the old hand-on-the-nape-of-the-neck move at the same time, but other than that it's pleasant.

“Shit,” spits the other Harry, shaking his hand out. “Forgot about that.”

“You remember doing this?”

“From the perspective you're in now, yes. I even remember this conversation, which is distinctly odd.”

“But surely I-”

“Less science please!” Eggsy pipes up, cheerful but insistent, from his perch on the edge of the bed. “Less talking, more of the hot stuff. And yes, Harry, it is, don't look at me like that. I'm allowed to like what I like.”

He can't argue. Eggsy's tendency to be the more emotionally eloquent, dare he even say mature, of the two of them never ceases to humble him, and the least he can do is indulge whatever he wants, particularly as he’s gone to such lengths. Will go to such lengths. It occurs to Harry that the entire situation is not only scientifically, existentially perplexing but grammatically unsatisfactory.

Harry tries to make it a show for Eggsy, to remember what he likes to watch and open up to a little bit of tongue and teeth.  It also occurs to him that not only is he being enthusiastically kissed _and felt up by_ himself, but that Eggsy, watching, has casually wandered a hand down his own boxers and is patiently gripping himself in response to what he's seeing, mumbling a breathy running commentary that might be as much for his own benefit as Harry’s. Either of Harry’s. Harrys’ ? _For god’s sake._

“Fuck, that's lovely. Yeah, Told you your arse is amazing.”   

Excitement shoots down Harry's back like a wayward firework at that. However disinterested in himself he may be, he would definitely be tempted to entertain his own advances if he thought Eggsy was going to wank over it, and with his eyes shut it's not even that bad. Fortunately, Eggsy's got more inclusive plans.  

“Alright, that's enough. I want some.” He can, of course, have everything and anything: no change there.

Eggsy stands up, positions himself between the two of Harry and waits expectantly.  Of course he knows what he’s in for with two identical copies of Harry: Harry may have spoiled him entirely and he wouldn’t have it any other way.   
  


Harry indulges the clumsy triangular three way kiss Eggsy pulls them both into until he gets bored of the novelty and Harry backs away to leave Eggsy in the capable Hands of his other self. Watches for a moment, with not the smallest lurch of hot jealousy, this other him scratching his nails up the clippered sides of Eggsy’s scalp, down the nape of his neck, and then chasing the same path with his mouth when His hands move down, to rub the sides of his thumbs in broad sweeping circles on the smooth muscle of Eggsy’s chest.

Harry himself starts from the other end, from the floor up, drawing his hands up the back of Eggsy’s legs whilst he nuzzles at him through the thick, soft cotton of his boxers. Eggsy groans happily and Harry sympathises: the stroking may well feel good but he's equally enthralled by his own handful of the thick, hard muscle of Eggsy’s beautiful fucking thighs, and quietly isn’t sure having someone else to distract the boy whilst Harry gets to worship there is any real hardship. He has never seen in the flesh -  much less got his hands on - a body quite like Eggsy’s, particularly whilst he’s home and eating well to complement training six days a week, and he still can’t quite believe it, which means he's apparently more inclined to process quantum physics than the ratio of Eggsy’s thigh to waist measurements. What Harry is not doing is complaining about that, in any way. He mouthes along the crease of Eggsy’s groin through his pants and feels the moment the spare Harry drags the pad of a finger over one of Eggsy’s nipples as a twitch against his cheek. _Good man._

“Fuuuuuuck, s’good,” mumbles Eggsy, too lazy with bliss already to enunciate. When Harry glances up, his future self is suckling at Eggsy’s neck whilst his hands draw softly under the curves of his pectorals and Eggsy drops his head to the side, offering. He sighs at the scrape of teeth, his eyes screwed closed to savour it, and Harry wishes Eggsy knew quite how tempting it is to mark him like he wants to let him; to leave him with a collar of hot purple bruises, owned and degraded. It's even harder to resist knowing Eggsy would like it, but he's content enough shuddering through the softer biting, gasping at that or the sensation of having so much of himself touched at once.

“How do you feel, my darling?”

“Like I'm in some weird paradise being waited on," manages Eggsy, on a sigh. "Ain't a spare one of you to fan me and feed me grapes, is there?”

“Would you like grapes, Eggsy?” Harry addresses his inner thigh, mostly, stretching the leg of Eggsy's trunks to rub a finger under his tight balls, kissing up to the crease of his hip. He smells divine already, earthy with excitement and a hard day’s work, and Harry’s a hypocrite because if he were in Eggsy’s position he’d insist on showering before they go any further, but he’ll beg Eggsy not to if he tries. He presses on. “Because if that’s your heart’s desire…”

Eggsy knows he's teasing, of course, and is having none of it. “Nah. You can feed me something else though.”

Harry works his lips across to the dampness in the fabric stretched across the very tip of Eggsy’s hard cock, lets him feel the warmth of his breath.  “I think there's still some pavlova in the fridge...”

“That ain’t exactly what I got in mind.”

He’s glad to hear it. Harry is as good as his word in that he would indulge any whim, but he was counting on Eggsy also remaining true to form, and the hand that winds into his hair and just holds him, unsure whether to pull him away or urge him on, tells him that he's ready. ‘Ready’ is perhaps an understatement: it’s closer to telling him much more if this will cut their playtime shorter than they want it to be, although Eggsy is too proud, for the moment at least, to say as much.

Other Harry withdraws to drape himself across the bed sideways and the correct Harry - as far as Harry is concerned - motions for Eggsy to hop up and join him. Eggsy pitches onto the bedspread, his knees going to the mattress either side of Other Harry's legs.

“Other way up.”

“Oh, fuck yes.” There’s a second’s pause in his repositioning for Eggsy to do the very specific, very silly, closed-fist, wriggling-hips victory dance he appears to reserve for this act in particular on his way around to climbing on the bed from the other side. He makes his way onto all fours, braced comfortably over the Harry who shouldn’t be there... although for all that, Harry will concede he’s doing a very nice job of opening up for Eggsy to slide his rigid cock down into his throat from a less than comfortable angle.

Eggsy gives them a lovely, throaty moan of pleasure and Harry an obscene look back over his shoulder whilst he's taking Future-Harry out of his boxers.

“You gonna fuck me whilst he... whilst you're doing that?”

Harry makes a noncommittal noise that his prick may well never forgive him for, because he would fucking love to, and the offhand tone of the invitation makes his insides sparkle with suddenly renewed lust, but… “Eh, you know, we could do that with toys, any time?”

“...we don't, though.”

“Would you like to?”

Eggsy raises his eyebrows in slow consideration. “Apparently I would, yeah.” Then his neck gets tired and he drops his chin to look at Harry upside down under his arm instead. The other version of Harry below him seems momentarily forgotten, save for his cock in Eggsy’s grip, and his mouth and throat as somewhere for Eggsy to park his own for the moment. Harry's blood comes to a simmer under his skin. Eggsy gives his hips a wriggle, getting comfortable, and his tongue swipes over the head of the wrong Harry's cock, just tasting like it's there to amuse him whilst he keeps talking to present Harry. “But surely you could say that about mostly anything.”

“Mostly,” agrees Harry, “but not this.”

Before the question can be asked, Harry steadies them with a hand pressing into the small of Eggsy’s back, angling his hips, and the other pushing at his arse cheek so he can dive in and lick over his hole.

“Oh _Jesus._ ”

“Nu uh,” chides Harry, muffled, “only one name to remember, and that's not it.”

“ _Harry_ ”.

It’s corny, but he got away with it, so he has to huff a self indulgent little laugh between Eggsy’s cheeks. “Better.”

Eggsy and the other Harry quickly settle into their groove and it's obviously good without any additional input from him, so Harry takes his time in being an observer, too.  Despite the frequency with which they're had sex in the presence of some sort of recording apparatus he's not sure he's ever objectively listened, and certainly not to this position, in which nobody has their mouth free for anything but wet groans and heavy breathing. The smack and pop of saliva is louder than he’d have imagined, from the outside, fully justified in its utter filth by Eggsy’s complete absorption; his nasal, surprised groan as Harry nuzzles in between his cheeks again to lick him. 

It's quickly too much for Eggsy to keep still through, and he picks up a frantic little shifting like he's trying very hard not to just fuck Future Harry's throat, more out of wanting it to last than any nonsense thought that it might be unwelcome - he knows better. Harry has to hold onto him by the hips to be able to actually make any meaningful contact between tongue and arse, though he doesn’t want to stop Eggsy writhing between their hands, into the mouth underneath him… just to draw him out a little, perhaps, because it would be a terrible shame if their guest made all this effort for a five minute romp.

Harry teases at Eggsy’s very rim with his thumb, just pulling him open enough to start to lick into him with the very point of his tongue. The next sound he recognises as the vowel from a drawn out “fuck” although the consonants are lost in the slick sucking around the other Harry’s cock, lucky bastard that he is at that moment. At least Harry is free to concentrate on worshiping Eggsy’s body the way he often wishes he could focus on, with Eggsy too well occupied to sidetrack him: he slides his hands up the rippling, sleek muscle of Eggsy’s back as the other Harry's hands come under and up to spread Eggsy’s arse for him. Flawless teamwork, really, and he's not sure if Eggsy can feel exactly what each one of him is doing or whether he's just overwhelmed with hands and mouth all over him: either way, he clearly loves it.

Eggsy whines so loudly, so desperately when Harry sucks softly at the rim of his hole that Harry feels the need to stop and ask whether he's alright, admittedly in part because he knows he's going to be smug about the answer.

“Yeah, it's just… everything, everywhere, _holy fucking shit_ this feels so good. Fucking hell, Harry.”

Harry has no intention of rushing. His future self is on the same page … of course he is, it’s a silly thing to think really… just letting Eggsy enjoy himself and god, how he sounds like he’s enjoying himself. He’s rarely quiet in the bedroom, or wherever else they’ve found themselves, which doesn’t make for the easiest of secret trysts but right now Harry wants to hear every single moan or gasp or curse he can possibly get out of him, and Mrs Cheshire-Jones next door be damned. The police officer who ended up attending the last time she rang in a ‘domestic disturbance’ would certainly not be in any hurry to interrupt them again, the poor sod. So let the boy scream.

Right on cue, Eggsy grits out a yell, muffled by his mouthful of cock, and a loud gasp when he pulls back. 

“ _Gnnngh._ Harry… Harry. Fucking Christ, I can’t - can’t handle this.”

“You can, my darling. Relax.”

“I need to come.”

It still makes pleasure race down Harry's back to hear it, even when it's no surprise at all. If anything, Eggsy's held out longer than Harry expected, perhaps wobbled on the brink a time or two but been too invested in sucking Future-Harry’s cock to let himself go.

“Tell me what you want.”

“Let me… can I get you off first? And …” it's like he's asking if it's possible and it's almost funny, the muffled “ _god yes_ ” that comes from somewhere underneath him. Harry is not a young man,  can no longer climax at the drop of a hat but but if there were a circumstance in which he would struggle, smothered under Eggsy’s writhing, sweating body with their cocks in each other's mouths is not it.

That's the entirety of the request, as it turns out, and it makes sense to Harry that Eggsy wants to free his concentration up for his own pleasure. He'd offer… on his other self’s behalf, generously… to let him off but he knows that won't go over, he'd have none of it in Eggsy’s position either: it's all part and parcel, the give and take. There's something quite lovely about relaxing into chasing your own climax with the reward of your lover’s satisfaction still fresh on your tongue.

So he pulls back and lets Eggsy focus, just stroking along the crack of Eggsy’s arse, rubbing his own saliva into the little furl of his hole to keep the skin warm and pliant, but not distract him too much.  His counterpart eases off too, laying still whilst Eggsy works on him and now Harry sees it from this angle, the push up position he dips himself in to do so is gorgeous, the globes of his biceps not even trembling even though he's shining with sweat as he ducks and withdraws and Harry is never again going to be able to watch him do push ups without getting an erection.

...He's not sure he ever did before, come to that, but that's hardly the point. Eggsy’s hole clutches at the pad of his thumb and Harry’s cock throbs. He thinks for a moment that if he’s allowed to continue this oblique, almost anonymous third-person admiration of Eggsy’s body, of his sexuality, for long enough he’ll need only the barest encouragement from the heel of his hand to orgasm, still clothed… why is he still wearing trousers?

He doesn't have time to address that nonissue because the performance is short lived: Eggsy is sloppy and enthusiastic, and Harry does not develop any miraculous immunity to that between now and whenever the future version has travelled back from, so it’s only a moment or two of Eggsy’s renewed effort and Other-Harry’s abandon to it before Eggsy’s ducking motion stills and he makes that encouraging little hum through his nose. Harry notes, absently, that his own right foot twitches as his toes relax from curling at the point of climax, which he has felt but never seen. He also dually realises that at that moment, Eggsy is swallowing someone else's come, and that Eggsy is swallowing his come, right now, and part of Harry's brain shortcircuits entirely. 

“Good?” asks Eggsy, seeking that comfort he doesn’t need, and Harry hears his own voice make a comically exasperated noise against Eggsy’s ballsack.

Satisfied, Eggsy settles with his weight braced comfortably on his forearms, his forehead resting on Future-Harry’s thigh, breathing him in just like Harry would be in his place and Christ, Harry loves him. There's just enough of a tot of searing jealousy in his heady arousal and it makes him more focused than ever. 

“Alright,” Eggsy says, either magnanimously or steeling himself. 

It would, of course, be easier to move them from that position but that's not what it's about. The Harry below gets a firm grip on Eggsy’s waist and treats Harry to a lovely view of the way his fingertips dig into the meat of him before he starts to work Eggsy’s cock again. With his own hands gripping roughly at Eggsy’s arse, Harry finds he can accommodate the rocking of Eggsy’s hips as Future-Harry gets his throat thoroughly fucked for his trouble, and still put his tongue to task.

The noise Eggsy makes is helpless, unhinged, and worth every second of the effort. It's a hot thrill for Harry that Eggsy gets straight to rocking between the two mouths lapping and sucking at him, not having lost any momentum whilst he pleasured Harry, too involved in his own enjoyment to be bothered about Harry's comfort now. It's truly the sincerest form of flattery.

An urgent tap on the leg, and the other Harry points downwards, directing Harry's attention to where Eggsy is absently nuzzling Future-Harry's soft cock, kissing him, completely happy and completely lost. Between kisses come quiet little hitches of breath, puffs of surprised effort from the struggle of balancing on the very precipice of pleasure, teased senseless, overwhelmed but enjoying it too much to stop.

Harry isn't edging him on purpose, not really. He just wants Eggsy to feel as good as he possibly can, to have as much as he can take before he carries him across the finish line, and the combination of throat and tongue seems to be a perfect one for keeping him going with plenty of time to enjoy the ride on the way.

“Do you want a finger as well?”

Eggsy gasps out an uh-uh kind of negative. No, he likes it just like this, hot and wet and maddeningly slow, and Harry would thank him for the privilege of being allowed to take his time, if he could speak. Instead he mumbles appreciatively against his skin as he dives back in.

It's a beautiful thing. Harry's own arousal throbs sympathetically, patiently as Eggsy writhes and tenses, sighs and grunts softly through his nose as he fights the instinct to rush for something easier, for a shallower pleasure that will let him come now, and Harry is strangely proud of him. He'll tell him, later: for now he just enjoys every moment of Eggsy's body's torturous climb up to the summit of climax, evidently a little higher and further away than he was prepared for, by the tension in his muscles and the scream in his closed throat -and the satisfaction of slowly licking him right over the edge as he's sucked from below. Eggsy lets out one strangled sob that turns into beautifully loud, ragged gasping that rips through him as he comes; Harry gentles but keeps going until Eggsy’s shaking, spent, and then gently rolls him over, bears him down onto the bed, a dead weight.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell,” is Eggsy's considered review, after a moment’s panting, but the shuddering breath on which it is delivered is a true compliment.

Future Harry swings his… they really are _abnormally long_ legs off the bed and reaches for his shirt, only to be stopped by a very sharp “Oi!” from Eggsy. He looks up. Eggsy looks half drunk and still manages to level Harry's future counterpart a sharp look. 

“Where's your manners? Some of us ain't finished.”  Eggsy jerks a thumb in Harry’s direction, and… well, it's true enough. But he's looking definitely between the two of them and Harry has a feeling he knows what's about to be suggested.

“I don't think I quite have the bent for narcissism you do, dearest.”

“Don't you dearest me.  I wanna watch you suck yourself off.”

Future Harry shrugs. He knows how this is going to go, presumably, which makes Harry wonder why he thought he was going to get away with making a break for it although it could have just been because that's what he's supposed to do, to get Eggsy to say that, so that they.. it's too confusing. Harry needs this orgasm just to put paid to the headache.

There's a strange little moment: a gentleman’s agreement, a little nod between the two versions of Harry and he understands that there is no reason to suffer through this, or make it a struggle. The other version of Harry goes to his knees; Harry frees his own aching cock from his trousers for him and watches Eggsy watching him, dopey with pleasure like he's high, blissfully enthralled. It's worth it simply for that look, for the knowledge that Eggsy will undoubtedly masturbate to this memory in the future, let alone the soothing wet heat of a mouth that Harry is long past needing. 

To give himself his due, Harry is exactly as good at sucking cock as he thinks he is.

Maybe even a touch better.

It follows that if he's going to do this at all he may as well do it properly, but Harry-from-the-future is neither rushing him nor slacking off, and Harry appreciates it. He's good and ready: eating Eggsy out always does it for him and getting to watch the rest of it too, knowing Eggsy hit the absolute peak of hedonistic pleasure and every shred of the credit for it goes to Harry doesn't hurt one bit. He deserves to get his now, with that fresh in his mind, on his tongue, and being able to lock eyes with Eggsy who can just sit back and bask, doesn't have to do a damn thing other than very obviously admire the view, is a rare treat.

“Yeah,” whispers Eggsy, indolent thing that he is, still so interested when he's freshly spent. “That's real good, ain't it?”

It is. Harry gets the absurd feeling his future self is trying to get one up on him, which is exactly the sort of thing he’d do, now he thinks about it, but Harry can’t think much because, as it turns out, the techniques his partners have sung the praises of over the years are genuinely mindblowing. He finds himself with not enough room in his body to breathe, suddenly, hands splaying and flexing either side of his own hips because he refuses to grab hold of his own hair, but fuck.

“Oi! Are you _better_ than me?!”

“...Lots and lots of practice,” Harry manages and isn't at all sure if it's a boast, a confession or a recommendation. He's offering, certainly, and Eggsy just grins at him, taking it in the spirit in which it was intended. He looks at him like he's studying every lick, every heavy swallow. Harry feels as though he might catch fire. It's too quick, his body rocking off the rails with stimulation it almost can’t turn into real pleasure because his brain, his heart, wants Eggsy.

Eggsy has mercy and steps up to his side, working his hand into the other one of Harry's hair and pulling him down on the cock in his mouth. It's not like he doesn't know he can take it, after all, and Eggsy’s enthusiasm warms Harry: whether it's because it's what he wants to see, because he'd be gagging to come by this point in proceedings or because he just wants Harry to have that pleasure _right now_ doesn't make any difference: each is both endearing and blistering hot and Harry finds himself watching the concentration on Eggsy’s face as orgasm bears down on him.

Hopefully he won't catch him staring, because it might be a bit much, but Harry can't help it. For a start It's easier than trying to process the concept of getting a blowjob off a time traveling duplicate of himself even though that may not even be the least likely item he's managed to inadvertently tick off the bucket list he doesn't have. More to the point, Eggsy is just so absurdly beautiful, riveted on the improbable sight of both Harry's cock as it's so ably blown and of Harry's mouth stretched and full, licking his own bottom lip like he still wants more. 

Other Harry's putting an admirable amount of effort in considering he's spent and Harry knows exactly how not turned on he is by the concept of what he's doing, but he supposes it's in his own best interests, because it does feel wonderful. He shouldn't be surprised that it's exactly how he likes it, physically, and he doesn't have to think about the rest because there's Eggsy and that stunning jaw and those bright sea eyes and that lovely pink mouth opening just a touch in breathless effort as he pulls the other Harry back by his hair.

“Oi, greedy. 'Spose you ain't gonna mind if I cut in?” The grin turns heavy, and kicks Harry right in the guts as Eggsy looks him in the eyes. “I want you to finish in my mouth.”

Harry grunts roughly with the effort of holding himself back long enough for Eggsy to drop to his knees before he comes, and even then it's a close thing: Eggsy’s words and the heat behind them set him off but his orgasm takes a leisurely, blissful roll through every inch of his body, setting each nerve ending blazing up from his core to his head and long enough on its way back down to his cock that he gets to feel the first wet, eager passes of Eggsy tongue before he's pulsing in his mouth. If he does grab at Eggsy’s hair to push him down, Eggsy doesn't seem to mind a bit.

The pleasure keeps coming for a few seconds after Harry's spent, what with Eggsy lapping at him so hungrily to clean up every drop when - Harry realises anew with a fierce jolt of wasted arousal - he’s already swallowed one load of his come just minutes ago. There's no way that should be such a heavenly thought: if tonight has taught Harry nothing else it's that his jealous nature simply will not stand to share. Apparently not even with himself.

Whilst Harry has this minor revelation, Future Harry and his - their- bedmate are equally quiet, comfortably lost in a heady combination of exhaustion, post orgasm stupor and temporal confusion.

“What happens if the wrong one of us goes back?” It's obviously hypothetical, although knowing that Harry-mark-two will have been absent from his present timeline for mere minutes and expected to return to the swing of the middle of a day implies the sort of jet lag Harry can't blame him for taking a break with them to avoid. That's not to say he wants to invite him to stay, because Harry himself wants to go to sleep and is not the equal to playing host after any of the evening's activities individually, let alone at once. 

“I… I'll be in February minus any memory if the last three weeks and you'll relive them, I suppose, until you catch up.” He rubs at the headache developing above the bridge of his nose.  “And then you'll get sent back and do that again and I… that makes no sense, I don't fucking know, I've just come, I've not even had a cup of tea yet. Piss back off where you came from and leave us alone.”

Eggsy, who looked about to interject, collapses back in hysterics. “Babes, you are priceless. Are you always this ‘orrible to yourself?”

“Absolutely,” deadpans the other Harry and Eggsy winds what may be intended to be a comforting arm around each of them but in fact makes him look like some sort of juvenile pimp. Nonetheless, knowing exactly how strangely enjoyable that is, he allows Eggsy to snuggle them all down on top of the duvet - still too hot to get underneath - and rest for a while ensconced in what seems even to him to be about three miles of Harry's limbs.

Eventually, Eggsy sits up a bit to ask “What even is sixty nine half over again?”

“A hundred and three point five,” answers Future Harry immediately.

Eggsy stares.

“You are not usually that quick at maths.”

Harry points at his former self, the present version. “Gets the calculator out the minute you fall asleep.”

“Only now I don't need to, because you've just told us.”

“Really? That's what you're willing to tear apart the fabric of space and time over? Do us all a favour and check my sums later, just in case.”

Harry is rapidly losing his patience, sympathising with Merlin and doubting Eggsy's mental stability: he is _insufferable_.  His other self may be around the middle of his day but for Harry it must be gone midnight and he, personally, has a sex-addled and sleepy twentysomething in a soft king size bed  just waiting for him to flop down and rest off their efforts. And a leggy, greying interloper who is quickly outstaying his welcome, and hasn't even had the decency to put the kettle on. 

“Now you've quite served your purpose, will you fuck back off?”

“Oh go on, have a fight,” says eggsy, perking up. “I'll make some popcorn. Or jelly.” The thoughtvisibly derails as Eggsy drags his eyes over both of them from top to toe and back again, too slowly. “Or… custard…”

“Are you planning on directing porn, or an eight year old’s birthday party?”

The open mouthed nuzzle of his face into Harry's neck as he pulls him back down into bed makes his intent very clear.

“Hire me a bouncy castle and find out.”

“You’re a disgusting little reprobate," Harry says fondly, pampering Eggsy's sweaty hairline with little kisses. He turns what he can reach of the duvet down and beckons Eggsy inside, not caring for one moment that neither of them have showered off their night of unusual excess. It's forgivable, under the circumstances. 

“I'll leave you two to it," says Future Harry, not a moment too soon.

“You off already? Was hoping you were gonna want to watch me fuck you…”  The ‘you’ is unspecifically directed.

Even as spent as he is, a quick thrill bolts through Harry's hips. He and his future self share an _ah the stamina of the young_ sort of look and call Harry old fashioned but he’s not keen on sharing any more than us absolutely necessary. Besides, Eggsy looks done in and Harry now doesn't have to imagine what that tiredness looks like on himself: he fights the urge to remind Eggsy that the combined age of man in bed with him at this moment in time is a hundred and fucking eight. He’ll probably like that, filthy little tart that he is.

“I'd love to,” answers the spare Harry, quite unexpectedly, and goes immediately to his briefcase to produce, of all things, a civilian issue GoPro on a tiny, bendy tripod, which he carries to the dresser. “Would you..?”

Eggsy, mollified and considerably far quicker on the uptake than Harry is considering it appears to be his fucking idea, struggles into a kneel and ridiculously, languorously pantomimes a few positions on - and over - the bed whilst other-Harry squints through the viewfinder, bends the tripod legs and eventually Blu-tacks it to the desk.

_The varnish, though…_ and then Eggsy settles back down into the crook of Harry's arm, against his chest, all sweaty and sated and _fuck the fucking varnish, Hart, honestly, priorities._

Finished, apparently, Future Harry comes back over to give Eggsy a gentle caress of his hand, over his hair and down onto his back and it's lovely to see that at work on Eggsy, the way he turns and opens up, blooming under the affection. 

“We've got a little screening date on Thursday evening. I'm very much looking forward to watching our performance together.”

Harry watches himself capture his lover's mouth in a long, hot, slow kiss with equal part interest and irritation. He wants to go to bed, he wants Eggsy to himself now, to comfort and coddle. His Eggsy, who is squeezing Harry's thigh like he knows he'll be jealous. He is jealous. But then Harry realises that he has both the watching and the making of this fabled video and tonight - again,  from the other perspective - still to look forward to and there's possibly never been a stronger argument for not wishing ones life away.

“What we got on tonight? Your tonight, like?” Eggsy asks when they pull apart.

“You're sleeping off jet lag.” The question is obvious in his face.  “Classified for now. But I'm going to bring you home a kebab, cuddle in next to you and recover from all this. Fancy being reminded about tonight, when you wake up?”

“Sounds lovely.”

“Goodnight, my darling.”

“Night Harry.”  Eggsy gives him a last, satisfied kiss and he disappears abruptly just as Eggsy is turning back towards the Harry that remains. “Hi Harry.”

“Goodnight, my darling.”

***

Just as they're snuggling down and Harry is about to switch the bedside light off,  another Harry reappears. This time he's more dressed but barefoot and the top three buttons of his dress shirt are undone.

No, two are undone, one is missing altogether.

“Where are you going to put the cable for that GoPro?”

“What?” Harry blinks at him, recalibrating too slowly for their visitors tapping foot and very prominent erection.“ Oh. Uhm…top drawer in the utility room?”

“Of course, thank you.” And he disappears again.

Harry shakes his head, rubs his eyes as if that will anchor him to what he remembers knowing about reality and falls asleep with Eggsy still sniggering into his shoulder.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still having a hell of a time wrangling the muses so I thought I'd dust this one off in an attempt to unblock the creative flow. Please do let me know if you enjoyed it - your kudos, comments and messages mean the absolute world to me and keep me returning to writing in the phases when it's hard work! If you'd like to drop me asks or whatnot, I'm randomactsofviolence on tumblr and if anything I'm over friendly.
> 
> Thanks for reading. x


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